


Loudwater

by chewysugar



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fellowship of the Ring, Flight to the Ford, Love, Magic, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-18 17:10:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16123028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chewysugar/pseuds/chewysugar
Summary: When all seems dire for Arwen, Aragorn taps into a force to help her.





	Loudwater

**Author's Note:**

> I hope I haven’t offended any true Tolkien enthusiasts. I have never read the books because I’m lazy. But the universe has been with me a lot these last few weeks, and this little story wouldn’t get out of my head.

“What are you doing? Those Wraiths are still out there!” The frantic cries of Master Samwise Gamgee rang in Aragorn’s ears. He would never dare show it to the hobbits, but dread had crept into his heart. Sam’s fear for his dear friend and master paralleled the ranger’s. But it wasn’t just for Frodo or the fate of the accursed ring that Aragorn stared in mute horror after the disappearing steed; it was for the elf-maid astride.

Arwen could say what she wished, but she had never encountered the Nazgul in her entire age of living. The shadow still had yet to penetrate the realms of the high elves. All Arwen knew of the black riders were tales she had heard—rumors carried by history and whatever travelers sojourned in Rivendell.

Aragorn took a steadying breath. “She will be safe.” He said to assuage the fear of the halflings, as well as to quell the terror in his own heart. “Arwen is a skilled rider and fighter, when she wishes to be at least. Frodo will not fall to harm with her.”

“When she wishes?” The more serious of the two young hobbits—Merry, that was his name—looked askance at the ranger. His fellows were both pale with shock and sorrow at the events of the long night.

Aragorn would normally have not deigned to respond. They were not safe so long as they remained in the wilds. They needed to be closer to Rivendell, where no fell thing had yet dared show itself. But he knew that calming the doubts of his diminished party was paramount in mobilizing them. In any event, he’d grown fond enough of the hobbits that he couldn’t bear to see them in such a state of distress.

Crouching down, he spoke as calmly as he could. “Arwen is a lady of the eleven court, yes. Her father dares not let her engage in battle for rather obvious reasons, but she has learned to ride a horse faster than the wildest wind, and her sword skills would shame a Rohirrim.”

Whether it was Merry’s own intuition or the evident pride in which Aragorn spoke, the young hobbit cast a shrewd gaze at the man. “You had a hand in that skill, didn’t you?” It appeared that Merry out of the remaining three had enough sense left to talk away his terror and exhaustion. Aragorn’s respect for the hobbit grew, and he stood up smiling, his own courage returned.

“You have a wit, Master Merry. I’ll be relying on it to help get us through these woods and back to the path.”

Merry’s expression turned grim. He looked to his cousin, Pippin, now shivering under his cloak; and to Sam, still stone-faced and tight lipped.

“We haven’t yet fled from worse, you lot,” Merry said in a harsh but commanding whisper. “And there’ll be worse still to come, I’m sure. This is nothing at all—a stone in the stream, if you’ll pardon the expression. Get up, Pip. And you too, Sam. You heard him: Frodo will be safe. Sitting in the mud and weeds won’t make him any safer. Get up. _Now_.”

Pippin, roused by the severity in Merry’s voice, rose on shaking legs. Sam glared at both Merry and Aragorn. Impatient now, Aragorn put a solid hand on the hobbit’s shoulder, and matched his scowl strength for strength. The determination in the ranger proved greater than the hobbit’s obstinance. Sam deflated, and stared at his furry feet.

“You _will_ see him again,” Aragorn said. “I give you my word. But only if we move on from here.”

Sam nodded, but remained stubbornly silent. He was the last to follow Aragorn from the troll’s clearing, his hood pulled high to hide his sour expression. 

As irritating as he found Sam’s moroseness, Aragorn could not help but sympathize. It demonstrated at the very least that the hobbits took their position quite seriously. Merry’s words about their quest having not yet seen the greatest perils rang all too true, and it nearly broke Aragorn’s heart. These quiet halflings, who were all youths by the standards of their own race, should never have born witness to such darkness. Yet here they were, journeying away from the very forces of evil—forces that had almost claimed one of their number.

Forces that could very well claim Arwen.

_She will be safe_ , Aragorn told himself, not for the first or last time. Hope—Estel, as the elves called it—could not be extinguished no matter how trying the outside world became. It seemed only fitting that they had bestowed that name upon him, given that he endured despite all his doubts and shortcomings.

But as Aragorn and the hobbits stole from the wild lands towards the foothills of the Misty Mountains, his tether to hope felt very fragile.

Try as he might he could not rid himself of images of Arwen besieged by the Ringwraiths. Cold terror wrapped him round, so that even the light of the rising sun that met he and his small party brought spare warmth.Never before had he known such a dread. He wished a thousand times that he had been a more worthy man for her. Then they could have lived their days peacefully together, safe from the pressing dangers of the world beyond.

Only they would not have been entirely safe. The Shadow would have claimed Rivendell eventually, and even if it hadn’t, the time of the elves had long been overdue.

By full daybreak, they were treading down steep hills. A mist of rain had started, and soaked them all thoroughly to the skin. The hobbits were not inclined to complain about the cold or damp, but Aragorn could see that they were all weary to the bone. Even the briefest rest would do them good. Perhaps I would even give him time to clear the darkness from his own thoughts.

He found them a cave of sorts—more of an overhang of many rocks which sheltered the ground from the rainfall.

“Rest a while—only a while,” Aragorn added, for Sam had been about to raise mutiny. “A few hours can do wonders.” They spread their sodden cloaks inside up so as to have something dry to lay upon. Aragorn knelt, and quickly struck a fire with some tinder and flint. When he stood to leave, Pippin called out, “But what about you? Don’t you need rest as well?”

“I’ve gone on less rest than this,” said Aragorn, not bothering to turn around. The hobbit’s concern for his welfare touched him, but he knew his duty was to keep watch. In any case, he could not sleep—not when he knew that Arwen still rode through the wilderness with the enemy at her heels.

He sat outside the shelter, and looked to the murky heavens. An ache had grown behind his ribs, born of every sorrow and travail he’d ever endured. Would that he hadn’t lived to see such a beastly time; that the hobbits had been left in the beauty and bounty of the Shire that had stolen even Aragorn’s heart. And if only he had talked Arwen down from her decision to ride to Rivendell. If all went well, she would arrive before they; perhaps she and Frodo were already awaiting them at the last homely house before the Misty Mountains.

He would see her again, hold her in his arms...

_Please_ , Aragorn thought, his eyes closed in a fervent prayer. _Please help her..._

He knew not to whom his plea was uttered. But in his mind’s eye he saw the serene face of the greatest of all elves: her eyes, blue as a precious sky, gazed with warmth and sadness through a thicket of silver trees. Hair like the stars framed a face full of grace and wisdom. 

“What need have you of my aid, Elessar?” She spoke in the tongue of Lorien. “You possess the greatest weapon necessary.”

Aragorn felt the words sink into him, filling him with knowledge and understanding—a knowledge of something he felt he’d always known. Thousands of invisibly tethers stretches from the spot where he stood. He looked across the forests and fields, and down—down several leagues from the cave where the hobbits slept. Crashing water filled his ears, along with the smell of wet, ancient stones.

He saw her race upon her white steed, Frodo near fading in front of her. A scar thin as blade slashed across her cheek, and the very sight pained Aragorn. But he did not break his tie, for it was a thing more ancient and unknowable than the oldest languages ever spoken. He knew without knowing how that this bond had been forged the day she’d stolen his heart, and that it would remain for evermore.

Behind her, the Nazgul bore down. Arwen turned on her mount, and drew her sword. Aragorn felt a rush of love for her bravery in the face of something so vile and insurmountable. The wraiths hissed, threatening to consume her lest she refuse to surrender the hobbit still clinging to light and life. 

“If you want him, come and claim him!”

Aragorn’s heart stilled. The Nazgul spurred their black steeds forward, slowly, not needing to make haste due to their belief that victory was at hand.

Arwen stared around, lost and panicked.

Then she looked up, through her nightmare pursuers. Aragorn felt as if he were standing directly in front of her. She had seen him, or rather felt him, felt the first pluck of that fiber that bound their hearts as one.

Galadriel’s voice whispered in Aragorn’s ear: “You know what must be done. Feel it in the earth. Hear it in the water. Smell it on the air.”

And he could. The very rocks seemed to vibrate beneath him; the steady rush of rain and the roar of the fjord repeated the same words over and over again. The smell of damp earth and all things living carried memories of a past long before his own.

He began to whisper, and in that not too distant ford, his whisper carried on the wind, directly to the spot where Arwen stood.

_Nîn o Chithaeglir lasto beth daer; rimmo nín Bruinen dan in Ulaer.._.

Arwen did not hesitate. Her trust in him proved greater than the threat of the shadow now bearing down upon her. She spoke his words back, and all the earth and water heard her. Her voice grew in strength as courage filled her entirely. 

“Nîn o Chithaeglir lasto beth daer; rimmo nín Bruinen dan in Ulaer!”

The river came to life in a thundering stampede of furious horses. It was as if all the anger of old nature itself rebelled against the profane presence of the ringwraiths. All the black riders fell to the power of the river, and Arwen stood safe on the other side, watching what her spell had wrought.

Aragorn felt the tether slowly begin to dissipate. Arwen would need to attend to Frodo, but there was little doubt in Aragorn’s mind that she would be able to save the halfling’s life. Just before he receded into himself, he heard Arwen’s voice in his heart, ringing like the peal of some gentle bell.

“Meleth nîn...” My love.

”Soon,” he replied. “We’ll be together soon.”

Aragorn smiled. His vision faded, and he felt himself seated on the damp earth. Footsteps drew close, but still he did not open his eyes, his heart too filled with gladness.

“Strider?”

It was Sam. Aragorn could tell from the sound of his voice. At last opening his eyes, he saw the young hobbit standing unsure near the mouth of the cave.

He didn’t want to wake from the vision. He wanted to linger, feeling that tie to Arwen as long as he possibly could. But it wouldn’t be wise. He got to his feet.

“Should we rest longer?” Sam asked. One look at the hobbit’s face, and Aragorn knew that he felt at least a trifle bit remorseful for his behavior the previous evening. 

Aragorn shook his head. “No. I don’t believe we should. Rouse your friends.We’ll be in Rivendell come evening, and you will find Frodo healed and safe.”

Sam frowned. “Safe? How do you know?”

Aragorn looked to the sky. The clouds had started to clear, leaving behind a gentle blue that reminded him of his own love’s eyes.

“Hope, Master Gamgee. That’s how.”

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think!


End file.
